


Strawberries On Your Birthday

by palegoat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, california au, half-australian oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palegoat/pseuds/palegoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>California is different. </p>
<p>Oikawa is different, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ hheey.. i got really invested in this ship and this au so i thought i'd publish a fic finally

Tuesday, it's hot.

  
It feels like late summer, and the sun teeters on the edge of the horizon, towards the Pacific, enveloping the surroundings in a warm, comforting pink-golden hue as the sky transforms into a gradient of pastels. The air is tepid, but a breeze delicately rolls across the grass.

  
Ushijima is newly seventeen, all limbs and tan, lean muscle. His hair is shaggy and untrimmed, contouring his face at uneven angels but still the same odd shade of brown, if not somewhat bleached and sun-kissed by the evening glow. The stickiness of sweat clings to him like fur on a wet dog, but it's good - it was nowadays rare that he could revel in the outdoors like this, feeling young and calm and at peace, and not pressured by after school practice drills. He takes it all in as a deep inhale, closing his eyes as he does so, smelling honeysuckle and feeling the warmth of the evening sun settle into the sidewalk beneath his sneakers.

  
He's cooling down from his work out at the gym, taking gratuitous sips from his water bottle as the southern California air begins to lose its swelter from earlier. Having almost lived here a year - and having visited every summer since his parents' divorce at his delicate age of five - he still hasn't been able to decide if the heat in California is worse than that in Sendai.

  
There's a lot of things he can't decide about California, or America, for that matter. He can't decide if he likes how long their summer vacation is, or how outspoken his classmates are. He can't decide if playing volleyball sounds better in these courts, or if he'd rather hear his teammates compliment his spikes in Japanese or English.

  
His mind wanders to the first time he stepped foot onto an American high school's volleyball court - soon to be almost a year ago, and the first thing he heard was one of the seniors ask if he could even speak English. And the surprise on that kid's face when he was fluent, not particularly heavily accented either. The boy had graduated since then, moved on to a good college, along with the rest of the seniors that he'd considered to be the only friends he had here. That had left the dilemma of deciding a new team captain, and even though Ushijima Wakatoshi was only just adjusting to his new American life with his father, he'd become the captain of his new volleyball team, much to the anguish of the other juniors. He wonders if the same would have happened back at Shiratorizawa.

  
He rears the corner of his street, a very large inclined cul-de-sac with moderately sized, one-story homes, on a sandy road with small patches of grass and a good amount of palm trees. It was plain, Ushijima would admit, but he liked it. At the far end, on the top of the hill, he could make out what he assumed to be a U-Haul and made a mental note to keep an eye out for the new neighbors. He treks up the steep climb to his house, unlocks the door, and steps in.

  
He can hear his father speaking in rapid-fire Japanese in the living room, and assumes he was talking to his mother on the phone until he takes off his shoes and actually begins to listen in.

  
"Ah, you remind me so much of my childhood! I haven't been to Sendai in years." comes his fathers cheery tone.

  
"It's really changed with the new construction." he hears a deep, aged voice that was completely unfamiliar, and freezes. He looms around in the dark hallway for a bit before deciding to make his presence known, shuffling forward into the bright lamp light of the living room.

  
He's met with a rather unexpected sight. His father reclines in his favorite black leather chair, the one perfectly situated a few feet away from the flat screen hanging on the wall, and on the couch is another Japanese man who appears roughly the same age as his father, maybe a little bit older. There are rough stress lines scratched into the man's face that put years of work on for display. Ushijima notices the man's not smiling as he speaks, unlike his father.

  
After a minute, they realize he's there. "Toshi, you're home!" his father exclaims. He quickly turns back to the stranger, now more excitedly, "This is my son I was talking about!"  
The man nods, giving Ushijima a once-over. He makes a humming noise and says, "He's tall. No wonder he went to Shiratorizawa." His father just nods and smiles, shifting again in his seat to look at his son.

  
"Toshi, I'd like you to meet our new neighbor, Oikawa-san! Would you believe he's from Sendai, too?" he's practically beaming, "Ah! Oikawa-san, yes, this is my son, Ushijima Wakatoshi."

  
If Ushijima's mind had not already shut down at the man's surname, he may just have fainted when the man shows an expression of recognition and turns the face the kitchen - "Tooru, isn't he the wing-spiker you were always talking about?" is what he says, but his voice dies on Ushijima's ears.

  
Looking back at him with the same, slack-jawed shocked expression, from over the marble counter, is Oikawa Tooru. Miyagi prefecture's very own three-time winning best setter award holder of Aoba Johsai private high school, the very boy who could nearly break a player's arm with his serve and turn around and woo the crowd with his charm, and, as Oikawa would say, Ushijima's arch-rival.

  
He can see Oikawa's brow begin to twitch, and lip quiver in disbelief, and can vaguely feel himself doing the same. Their fathers must be entirely aloof, because when his dad kindly asks him to take out the trash after squealing a "Oh, Toshi, that's amazing! A friend you actually know!" he doesn't seem to notice that Ushijima can't hear him.

  
His feet move on command, however, hastily walking past Oikawa into the kitchen to grab the black garbage bag. As though in a trance, he meanders over to the back door, slides it open, and suddenly realizes he's outside. The air is cold now and the light from the sun is merely a very dark shade of orange twinge across the sky.  
And he's not alone.

  
He drops the bag and turns around, yet whatever he was about to say dies in his throat and the only sound is some soda cans rustling around as the bag hits the pavement.

  
Oikawa has slid the door shut behind him, and looks angry. He folds his arms over his chest, and seems to be waiting for a response as though he'd said something.

  
"I did not expect to see you again." is what Ushijima musters, and Japanese oddly sounds foreign on his tongue, which feels thick and his throat choked up. There is a lot of history in the distance between him and Oikawa.

  
Oikawa scoffs, and Ushijima picks up on a hint of what sounds like nervousness, "Well, what were the odds, huh?" He wets his lips, looking up at the thin clouds overhead, "Me, moving into my worst enemy's backyard."

  
Ushijima lets out a long, very audible sigh. Same old Oikawa. Figures. A long silence begins to infest their conversation, and Ushijima thinks Oikawa's about to go inside when he speaks up again, softer this time, with slightly less malice.

  
"Suppose now you can't beg me to come to Shiratorizawa." and he shifts as though uncomfortable, snuggling further into his jacket.

  
Ushijima thinks about what he should say. He doesn't want to amp up this stupid rivalry Oikawa's made up between them, especially when they had a chance to start fresh in California. Maybe they wouldn't be friends, but Ushijima'd settle for just being acquaintances.

  
"I would still like to spike one of your serves." he says rather simply.

  
Oikawa's eyes narrow, "Are you still playing?" as though he, Ushijima Wakatoshi, the greatest ace in Miyagi, would just up and quit volleyball. Ushijima finds this humorous.

  
"I am."

  
Oikawa merely gives a curt nod and goes back inside. For reasons Ushijima doesn't understand, the garbage bag feels ten times heavier.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a couple days since their conversation (rather, confrontation, Ushijima thinks), and Ushijima knows Oikawa is avoiding him on purpose.

Oikawa's father is back again in their living room, having a beer with his own father and in general having what sounds like a hell of a time. They've really warmed up to each other in such a short while, and sometimes Ushijima wonders if Oikawa-san ever leaves their couch. He hasn't since seen his son, though.

He tries to push the thought aside, and goes back to tending the California poppies in the front yard. They've been growing nicely since he'd planted them, and liked the way they swayed from side to side when the wind blew. His dad mentioned when he'd moved in that they had a sprinkler system set up, but Ushijima insisted he'd tend to the garden on his own. It was calming, feeling the dirt beneath this fingernails and the sweet smell of wet flowers wafting through the air, and he'd admit he enjoyed it almost as much as volleyball. Almost.

He's grimacing down at what looks like a weed when he hears a shift of sandy gravel and turns to see a woman he's never seen before. She's white, young and pale, with bright blue eyes and bouncy light brown hair, and if you'd ask Ushijima what he thought conventional attractiveness looked like, it'd be her. He arches a thick brow when the woman looks directly at him, and raises it higher when she greets him in Japanese. 

"You must be Wakatoshi-kun! Is my husband visiting with you?" she asks, and Ushijima has a hard time placing her accent. Obviously foreign, but not American. It takes him a while to realize that she must be Oikawa-san's wife, and he nods briskly, though not without confusion spreading over him like bread on butter. Then, quickly, as though in a rush to not be rude, Ushijima wipes his hands off on a towel and stands up straight, offering to show her inside. 

Inside, Oikawa-san's wife customarily takes off her shoes and gives a "pardon the intrusion" before Ushijima shows her to the living room. His father and Oikawa-san are laughing uproariously, which though common for his own father, seems strange tumbling out of someone as straitlaced as Oikawa-san. Must be the beer. His wife moves past Ushijima and says she's going to the farmer's market with Tooru, though notably says "farmers market" in accented English. 

Oikawa's father smiles and nods, saying "Good, that boy's been sulking up in his room for days! He needs to get out more." and when he notices how Sorai is openly gawking at his wife, he adds "Ah, this is my wife, Carley." 

Sorai stands at that, bowing slightly, and both he and Carley exchange greetings. "May I ask where you're from?" Sorai asks her, and Ushijima silently thanks his father for being the one to ask. 

"Australia," she says, bubbly and energetic, much like his father. "My family's from Perth." 

Sorai nods, making humming sounds in understanding. "Pardon my rudeness, but are you also Tooru-kun's mother? He just doesn't seem..." 

"Half?" Carley giggles, "Yeah, we get that a lot. But, no, Tooru is most definitely my son!" 

Ushijima is inwardly shocked by this, though knows his expression is as blank as ever. He had so many questions for Oikawa he never thought he'd have, like had he ever been to Australia, could he speak English, why hadn't anyone known before. His mind searches his memories to see if he had ever seen Carley at a match before, if she too felt resentment towards him for Oikawa's inability to beat him. Furthermore, didn't Oikawa's father say he'd been sulking? What for? Is it connected to the knowledge that he's now neighbors with Ushijima? 

"Wakatoshi-kun?" it's Carley, and Ushijima blinks his thoughts away. "You seemed kinda busy outside, but would you like to come with us to the farmer's market? I could really use the directions." 

He can see his father urging him to say yes out of the corner of his eye, so says yes on his behalf. He mentally prepares himself for the shitstorm Oikawa will throw at him. 

He and Carley make their way up the street, not without Carley asking a million personal questions. Ushijima doesn't mind - she's nice, and quite charismatic, and he finds himself genuinely smiling when he replies to her. She asks him how long he's been in California, what school he goes to, does he still play volleyball. When he says yes to that, she slows her step a little. 

"Tooru was excited to play volleyball here," she's not looking at him anymore, instead favoring the sky, looking somewhat solemn when she continues, "Now, I'm not so sure. I know that..." and she looks like she's trying to find the words.

"He does not like me." Ushijima offers, in English, and feels slightly bad about the way she looks at him, like a kicked puppy. 

"I wouldn't say that...I think he's..jealous of you, if anything." when she sees Ushjima's arched brows, she elaborates, "His father's very hard on him, y'know? Wants him to be the best. Wanted him to go to Shiratorizawa, but that sent Tooru over the edge, I think." she says, but after a moment perks up. "What I mean to say is, I think Tooru thinks his father wants him to be like you, but he wants to just be himself, though he's not sure who that is yet." 

Ushijima is more confused by that statement, but doesn't push it. He puts the information aside as food for thought later, and Carley opens the door to her house. 

"Tooru?" she calls, walking slightly up the stairs, where Ushijima assumes Oikawa's bedroom is. "It's time to go!" 

There's a long moment where nothing's said, and Carley looks back at him with an apologetic smile. Then, at the top of the stairs, emerges Oikawa, wearing teal bermudas and pulling a clean, white t-shirt over his head. 

"Sorry, I was re-watching the new X-Files seaso-" it's in English, and it's accented like Carley's, and Ushijima is about to mentally note how it's kinda beautiful sounding but Oikawa stops when he's done adjusting his shirt, and stares right at Ushijima. A new tension bubbles in the air, and Carley's the first to speak. 

"Ahaha, I hope it's alright if Wakatoshi comes with us." she sounds uncharacteristically nervous. But, Oikawa just snaps back to his normal perky self and gives a sing-songy "That's fine!" before stepping outside the house, pushing passed Ushijima to the car, but Ushijima is stuck on how similar Oikawa is to his mom. Well, Ushijima thinks, Carley probably isn't an asshole, but he digresses. 

Oikawa hops into the backseat of a blue SUV, and Ushijima follows suit, with Carley sliding into the drivers seat. Ushijima gives her a first set of directions to get on the highway, and she gives him a very bright smile in return. He slides back in his seat, and doesn't miss the very candid way Oikawa is staring daggers into him. He looks towards him, which makes Oikawa narrow his eyes further, and take out his phone and begins to type. The case is a light turquoise, a reference to Aoba Johsai's colors, no doubt, and littered with...alien stickers, and Ushijima has a hard time restraining a chuckle. What a nerd. 

Oikawa shoves his phone into his hands a moment later, and when their hands brush awkwardly, Oikawa feels warm, like the evening sun. Ushijima looks at the phone, where a form of notepad app has been opened and a line of kanji typed at the top. 

_why are you here_   is what it reads, and Ushijima blinks from the phone, to Carley, who is currently preoccupied with Blank Space blasting on the radio. 

**Your mom asked me to be.** he types out and hands the phone back to Oikawa, who snatches it with unnecessary force. Oikawa looks annoyingly out the window. Ushijima does the same, and it isn't until the next song starts up that Oikawa's jabbing the phone into his side.

_k well i don't like u._ Ushijima looks back up at him and Oikawa sticks his tongue out while flipping him off. Ushijima looks out the window again, watching the  green highway signs pass languidly. He thinks of what to say, or type rather. 

**I did not know you were half Japanese.**

Oikawa is quick to hand the phone back.  _yea and i didn't know how oblivious u were!!_

**You just don't look half, is all.**

_i should change your nickname to baka-waka, stupid ushiwaka._

Ushijima sighs heavily. Why did Oikawa make being a pain in the ass a sport? Oikawa is making grabby hands for the phone, though, so he hands it back to him. 

_i was bullied a lot for it as a kid. it was really noticeable back then. mom says i spoke english first._

Ushijima smiles softly at that, and takes the opportunity to change the mood.  **You have an accent like your mom. It's cute.**

He watches Oikawa read the text and takes a sense of pride in how confused and flushed it makes him. At first he looks like he'll type some sort of aggressive comeback, but settles back in his seat, phone rested against his chest with one hand and head resting against the window with the other. The song on the radio's changed, and even though Ushijima doesn't recognize it, he thinks he likes it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'll type longer chapters in the future ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ


	3. Chapter 3

Ushijima loves farmer's markets.

His father once told him it made him sound like an old man, and Ushijima had shrugged and said someone had to support local businesses – and, though he does believe in that, he cares more about the product and the pride people take in the care of fruits and vegetables. He can relate, even though he is merely the caretaker of the small bushels of flowers that dot the surface of his front and back yards. There was just something wholesome about feeling the soil cake his skin, like a triumphant trophy awarding him for helping something else grow prosperous. His dad said that was silly, but at least it made their yard look nicer than the neighbor's.  

Carley, however, seems just as passionate about produce as he is, and maybe just a little misguidedly. She's obviously somewhat new to the whole picking the ripest fruit and freshest vegetable game, but Ushijima is very eager to help her in her journey to find good pears.  

"That one is bruised." He points to the one in Carley's hands, and she turns it over to see a gross darkening of the flesh and pouts at it. The seller, a stout, tan man with the widest unconditional smile Ushijima has ever seen on his face, takes the pear from her and apologizes, and hands her a different one that has a nice, bright, happy looking yellow-green skin. The man goes on to explain that his farm is only a couple miles from here, and Carley, as she has with every other vendor today, is shocked to know how much is grown in California, and very excitedly listens to him talk about how the season's been going so far.  

Ushijima smiles at them and begins looking around the stalls to see what they should hit up next. It's August, so there's quite the sizeable crowd ogling the dealers for their harvests. He wonders if Carley will bring them back again so they'll have better luck finding juicier apples, since it appears early birds flocked to those stands and bought up all the good ones. His eyes settle on Oikawa, who is loitering around a grape vendor, not looking particularly interested in anything other than his phone. Ushijima sighs, tells Carley he'll be right back, and walks over to him.  

"Having fun?" He asks, feigning interest in the grapes so as not to appear rude. The man tending the stall is reading a magazine, anyway.  

Oikawa looks up at him, but merely shrugs in response, going back to typing whatever message he was writing earlier. Ushijima can hear music blasting from his earbuds, but can't make out any words or anything other than a heavy bassline with the occasional hi-hat.  

"Do you want some grapes?" Ushijima tries again, this time turning to look at Oikawa as he speaks to him, holding out a stem covered with fat, damp purple orbs nearly the size of quarters.  

Oikawa shakes his head and pockets his phone, not looking annoyed but bored. That's a plus, Ushijima thinks.  

"Do they sell strawberries here?" He asks, not looking at Ushijima at all.  

"Yes." Is all Ushijima says, and turns on his heel and begins walking. Oikawa follows him silently, and it occurs to Ushijima that he's never seen Oikawa this...passive before. Usually he's either obnoxiously rambling about something or throwing harsh insults, but now he's just staring lazily at the variety of vegetables as they pass them. Something like concern begins to scratch at the back of Ushijima's mind, but he figures he doesn't really know Oikawa well enough to know if this is even something to be worried about.  

"You're awfully quiet." He says, trying to keep his tone as neutral as ever.  

"I'm thinking." Oikawa replies, and Ushijima notices he's checking his phone again. He wants to ask who he's texting, but they arrive at the specific strawberry stand he was looking for.  

There's a yellow sign that reads MALIBU in large green cursive on the side of every box surrounding a tiny old man as he takes out clear plastic tubs of bright red strawberries, laying them neatly side by side on his display table. The air smells sweet and sticky, and it makes Ushijima ever so slightly more content.  

"Ah, Toshi, hello!" The man says, craning his neck entirely to look Ushijima in the eye as he speaks. "How are you? Are you here with your father today?"  

Ushijima smiles, but shakes his head no. "I am here with some friends." And he can feel Oikawa staring at the back of his neck as though the word 'friends' was a personal affront to him.  

"Well, I hope your friends don't mind I had to raise my prices by ten cents!" the small man chuckles, and it's such a warm sound. He shuffles around to the back of the stall and opens another box, delicately wiggling his fingers until he spots whatever he was looking for. "Since I like ya, I'll let you have the best of the bunch!" The smile he gives is blinding.  

"Thank you." Ushijima says genuinely, fishing money out of his wallet.  

"No, thank _you_ , Toshi! You say hello to your father for me, it's been a while since I've seen y'all on my farm!" He opens his cash register without counting the money. Ushijima would like to think that'd be because he was a regular customer, but the old man just had an unconditional trust in humanity, bless his heart.  

Ushijima thanks him again, and turns to hand Oikawa the box of strawberries. Oikawa meanders out of the market tent and Ushijima follows, figuring Oikawa wanted him to.  

They make their way to a curb a little ways away from the farmer's market, surrounded by the neatly trimmed grass that encompasses the far edge of the parking lot. No one else is around, and the silence compared to the hustle and bustle they had just come from is very welcoming.  

When Ushijima takes his seat, Oikawa has already opened the box and offers him a strawberry, a move Ushijima would think friendly if it weren't for the scowl distorting Oikawa's face.  

"So who was the old guy?" Oikawa asks, talking with his mouth full.  

"That was Mr. Ruth." Ushijima says, waiting until he's done chewing to continue, "My father and I have gone to his farm to pick fresh strawberries every summer for years."  

Oikawa hums in acknowledgement, but seems preoccupied looking at nothing in particular. He checks his phone again, but when he sees there's no new messages, grimaces and pops another strawberry in his mouth.  

"So how'd someone as dense as you learn English anyways?" He's looking at him now, but Ushijima doesn't hear any true bite in his words. He shifts and takes another strawberry from the box, and doesn't miss how attentive Oikawa's eyes are as he does.  

"When my father moved here, he sent back a lot of American movies on VHS, mostly Disney. I learned from them, I guess." And he figures he wasn't too bad at English class back in Sendai, either. But his eyes crinkle at the very fond memory he has of watching Aladdin with his father on Christmas when he came to visit, and he'd told his dad all his ridiculous wishes as if he were the genie.  

"That's cute, even for you, Ushiwaka. What was your favorite?" Oikawa has a wicked smirk on as he munches on a poor defenseless strawberry. Ushijima thinks if there was any form of mockery in Oikawa's voice, he'd be the spitting image of the devil.  

"The Land Before Time, but I was scared of the T-Rex." Ushijima says, and Oikawa doubles over in laughter. It doesn't sound insulting, rather unexpectedly surprised, so Ushijima chuckles with him.  

"That's not a Disney movie, but I'll give you credit for it." Oikawa says when he recovers. "I'm a Monsters Inc. guy myself." 

"That's a Pixar movie." Ushijima says, and revels in the offended look Oikawa gives him.  

"Fine, fine." He makes a grand gesture of flapping his hand around, "Lion King, then."  

They chat for a while more until the sky begins to lose its luster, clouds turning pink and orange as farmers begin to pack up their wares. The box is now empty, nothing left but sticky pink juice and fingerprints from when Oikawa tried to get Ushijima to stop hogging all the strawberries. Oikawa is laying back in the grass, listening to his music as he checks his phone, and the blank look he had before has returned. Ushijima doesn't mind, though. He figures Oikawa opened up enough for one day.  

When he gets up to throw the box out, he notices Carley hurriedly walking up to them.  

"Finally I find you two!" She sounds slightly out of breath but not mad in any way. She holds up a large cloth bag full of smaller plastic ones, "Look! I got grapes!" And she smiles proudly. "Did you boys have fun?"  

Oikawa sits up, stretching and yawning. "Waka-chan bought strawberries."  

Ushijima is taken aback by the name, but smiles regardless.  

* * *

 

The trip home is mostly silent, save for the songs streaming from the speakers. Ushijima taps his foot occasionally to the bubblegum pop tune, but doesn’t listen intently enough to catch any lyrics. His attention is divided between Oikawa and watching the cars slowly jut along the interstate. He’d forgotten to warn Carley of the god awful traffic here.  

Oikawa, though, is slumped against his seat with his head cradled by the seatbelt. His eyes are closed, but Ushijima knows he’s not asleep – he checks his phone every five minutes, like clockwork. It’s honestly astounding how his phone still has battery through such abuse – Ushijima himself has only checked his phone twice through the entire day.  

Ushijima goes back to watching cars.  

They arrive back at Ushijima’s house a little after nine, and the sun is barely holding onto the sky. Ushijima bows and thanks Carley graciously for the wonderful time. He looks to Oikawa, who is sitting up straight now, and the small smile he has on his face turns stiff when he notices the kanji typed out on Oikawa’s phone.  

> _don’t think we’re friends_  

That night, Ushijima tries to think of ways to pull the weed out of his garden.  

But Monday morning comes with rain, and Ushijima finds himself enjoying a cup of tea as he watches the tarp covering their pool garner small puddles from the kitchen window. The weed may have won the battle today but it most certainly has not won the war, he thinks.  

His father makes a grand entrance as he yawns, opening the fridge for his morning sustenance. “You got in late. Had to put the tarp up all by myself.”  

Ushijima hums his acknowledgement, taking another sip of his tea. 

“How was it though?”  

“Fun. Ruth says hi.” His voice sounds uninterested and distant, and even he knows it, but his father knows best not to press a subject. Ushijima would talk when he wanted to.  

His father goes into the living room after rummaging around in the fridge and settles in his chair to watch the morning news. Eventually he goes to work, and Ushijima feels an odd sense of loneliness creep over him, something he thought he’d become accustomed to being an only child.  

When he returns to his room planning on taking a nap, his phone is lighting up a storm. He opens up his messages to find about a million from Tendou.  

> _So what’s this I hear about_ _oikawa_ _moving to_ _california_ _? Word is you guys are buddy-buddy now._  
> 
> **How do you know any of that?**  
> 
> _Unlike you, I have friends at Aoba_ _Johsai_ _._  
> 
> **I doubt that.**  
> 
> _Ok, so_ _goshiki’s_ _girlfriend overheard_ _iwaizumi_ _talking about it. Guess that means_ _oikawa’s_ _texting him about you though ;)_  

Ushijima stares at the message for a while. What were the implications of that? Ushijima should have figured it was Iwaizumi Oikawa’d been texting at the farmer’s market, but would Oikawa really waste his data sending him texts about how much he loathes being in Ushijima’s presence? Actually, yes, he would…though why now does Ushijima feel a little pissed off at the prospect? His phone buzzes again.  

> _C’mon,_ _wakatoshi_ _, I know you’re there._  
> 
> **He told me not to think we are friends.**  
> 
> _Wow. What a dick, but I mean, what else is new? :/_  
> 
> **I thought we had fun, though.**  
> 
> _Ooh, spicy. Maybe he’s just shy._  

Ushijima scoffs out loud at that, but then remembers what Carley had said about Oikawa being jealous of him. If he thought about it, being as mature as a wet sponge as Oikawa is, he could see him acting passive-aggressively towards someone whom he wanted the attention of. Implying, of course, he wanted the attention of Ushijima, though that may be wishful thinking on his part.  

He rubs his temples and decides he needs to go on a run. The frustration he feels building probably isn’t good for his health, slight as it is. So, he does stretches in the living room until the rain dies down to a drizzle and eventually stops by noon. The forecast doesn’t call for anymore rain, but the sky is still morphed into a taunting light grey. A short run, then, maybe.  

He dons his running shoes and an old pair of workout clothes, grabbing his keys and his phone. When he yanks open the door, he damn near runs into Oikawa.  

Oikawa seems just as startled as he is, and Ushijima’s attention immediately draws to the hand Oikawa has up as though he were just about to knock on the door. Oikawa snatches his hand back like him staring at it was like sunlight concentrated through a magnifying glass, and frowns.  

“Well, g’day to you, Ushijima.” Oikawa says in English as to purposely lay his accent on thick. Ushijima briefly thinks about watching Steve Irwin with subtitles on the learning channel when he was small, since that's sort of what he sounded like. 

Ushijima just blinks at him. “Why are you here?” and it’s a simple question but he has to really restrain from letting his mood sink into his words. Oikawa says nothing, just pulls that how-dare-you-insult-me face he just loves to have on whenever Ushijima says something to him. So, he elaborates with: “You said we are not friends.” 

Oikawa, in the smallest flicker of expression, has a mixture of confusion and remorse in his eyes, and Ushijima feels as though he’s been pulled into a riptide, being thrown against the high standing wall that Oikawa’s built around himself, and all Ushijima wants is for Oikawa to _let him in_. But Oikawa recovers instantly and grunts out “Yeah, well, I say a lot of things I regret later.”  

He breaks eye contact with Ushijima completely. It’s too hard to determine if Oikawa looks hurt or angry – or both – so Ushijima remains silent, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say (in his defense, it’s Oikawa’s fault). Maybe Tendou was right about him.  

“So, do you wanna go for a run?” Oikawa asks, turning back to him. Ushijima takes the opportunity to realize what Oikawa’s wearing – running shoes, shorts, and a white blazer; the knee brace isn’t hard to miss, either. So Oikawa actually came here with the intention of jogging with him.  

Well, he supposes, that’s fine. He’ll let Oikawa set the pace for this friendship.  

They run in silence.  

The sandy dirt that littered the sidewalk is now gooshy mud, and it's more like an obstacle course to avoid puddles and not stray into the asphalt of the street. Oikawa runs behind him but keeps pace, and their shoes hit the pavement in a synchronous cacophony of wet smacks and heavy thrums.  Ushijima concentrates on his breathing, Oikawa listens to the beat of his music. The air is humid but is brusque as it flows over their skin, and whatever resentment towards Oikawa he’d been harboring since yesterday washes away with it.  

Ushijima figures they’ve run somewhere between two and three miles roundtrip by the time he’s back on his doorstep. His chest is tight, but he isn’t breathing as hard as Oikawa, and while he isn't panting like a dog it sure sounds like he hasn't gone running in a couple weeks. They tumble through the entranceway and by instinct Ushijima goes to his room - his socks are soggy, and his shirt’s clinging to him in all sorts of uncomfortable fashions.  

“Wow,” Oikawa huffs out, “your room’s as plain as your personality.” 

He turns from digging around in his dresser and sees Oikawa plopped down on his bed without invitation. It must have looked like he was glaring, because Oikawa throws his hands up like a white flag, “Just kidding, geez,” he mutters. He looks soaked with sweat, and tugs at his collar occasionally to cool off, feeling beads of sweat still clinging to his hairline.  

Ushijima peels his shirt own off and stretches, feeling his shoulder blades pull nicely like a good stretch, and thinks  for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he’s being weird. He didn't really ask if it was okay for him to just start stripping right then and there, but, locker room rules, right? Just guys being dudes. He can feel Oikawa’s eyes on him, though.  

Oikawa’s caught off guard when he tosses him a shirt, one that’s a light grey like the sky and far too big for Oikawa’s build. Even though they were only two inches different in height, Ushijima was far bulkier and his shoulders far broader, and stretch marks shoot out like lightning across the bronze expanse of his deltoids. Oikawa tells himself he’s not admiring them, but he is, and it’s obvious.  

"You can borrow that." Ushijima says, nodding towards the shirt grasped in Oikawa's hands. 

They maneuver into the fresh clothes in silence, and when Ushijima pulls his head through the opening, sees Oikawa unabashedly giving him a once over. He thinks this would be a moment he’d blush and shy away if it were in his personality’s capacity to do so, but he instead just stands up straighter.  

Oikawa gives a devilish smirk at that, and flops back onto Ushijima’s bed after concentrating his attention on Ushijima’s naked legs under his shorts for a beat longer than the rest of his body. “You need to shave, Waka-chan,” he sighs haughtily, “You and your thick thighs.”  

Ushijima looks down at them as though on cue, and can see that there, too, stretch marks zig-zag down his inner thighs until they fade away just before his knees. But he isn’t ashamed - if anything, he's pretty proud of how he's sculpted his muscles into the solid, toned forms that ripple beneath his tanned skin. He looks to Oikawa’s thighs as they dangle over the edge of his bed, and notices that even though Oikawa Tooru is lean and athletic in most areas, he's still plump in others, and there are tiny little etchings across his soft, pale skin, too.  

Ushijima smirks, “Your thighs are chubbier than mine.”  

Oikawa gives what can be described as a half-giggle, half-snort. “Yeah, but they’re cute!” and he wiggles his legs for emphasis.  

Ushijima silently agrees, and doesn't stop the toothy smile that cracks across his face since Oikawa can't see. He says he'll get them both water, since he doubts Oikawa will want to move from his position atop his bed, but when he returns, Oikawa is rubbing circles around his knee with the pads of his thumbs after having delicately put his brace aside on Ushijima’s comforter, staring blankly at where the Shiratorizawa Jersey hangs on an otherwise white and blank wall.  

He accepts the water bottle that's offered to him, and takes a long, very loud swig from it. His eyes haven't left the Jersey, and Ushijima has come to recognize this expression as Oikawa being pensive, so in lieu of saying anything he just goes to sit next to Oikawa on the bed.  

Another silence marches its way between them, but Ushijima doesn't mind. He takes the time to consider how hairy his legs actually are, and though he can't be deemed Bigfoot's long lost brother, he supposes he may need some maintenance done. Oikawa's legs are so smooth looking, virtuously unblemished and free of any hairs, but then again, Oikawa spends a good fifty percent of his life in front of a mirror, Ushijima is willing to bet. When his eyes lazily wander over to the knee Oikawa is still kneading softly, hands quickly rush to put the brace back on, and they're left awkwardly staring at each other, a small hint of confusion in Ushijima's lax facial expression and...is that embarrassment on Oikawa's face? Is there some boundary Ushijima stepped over? 

Oikawa opens his mouth to say something, but in that very moment, the front door opens and Ushjima's father's cheery voice rings through the house. "I'm home!" They hear, and the shuffling of grocery bags. Oikawa's eyes dart to the small window covered by blinds in the room, and sees the faintest of slivers of dusk seeping in from the outside.  

"I should get going," Oikawa scrambles to stand, nearly falling over himself. He's gone before Ushijima can even say goodbye, but this time he doesn't feel like Oikawa's metaphorically punched him in the gut – if anything, it looks like Ushijima was the one that did the punching.  After he hears his father give a startled exclamation of _Tooru_ _-kun!?_ and the door shutting he decides to get up.  

For dinner, Ushijima makes fried tofu with eggplant over rice, and his father happily chats with him about his day. Sorai doesn't ask about Oikawa, but almost chokes when his son asks him if he could teach him how to shave.  

Ushijima only has to put on three band-aids when he cleans up after his shower.  

* * *

 

By the time the sun rises the next day, Ushijima is already awake doing laundry. His father is still asleep, so the only break in the silence is the tune of the pitter patter of rain from the remnants of last night’s thunderstorm. The laundry room is more the size of a walk-in pantry, and his shoulders keeps hitting the side walls awkwardly.  

He hums along to a made-up song, the sound reverberating in the cramped space like a low bass. Realizing he doesn’t have enough clothes to make a full load, he slips back to his room on an expedition for more.  

Ushijima almost misses the shirt lackadaisically stuffed between the wall and the end corner of his bed. It's Oikawa's shirt; he must have forgotten to grab it when he hurriedly got out of the house last night. Ushijima is still moderately confused concerning the whole ordeal, but feels like asking Oikawa about it would just upset him in some way – maybe he should consult Tendou, since he's the type to know about stuff like that.  

Returning to the shirt, he tries to shake the creases out of it to no avail, then shrugs and puts it in his pile to wash. The least he could do is give Oikawa back his shirt clean.   

It’s still drizzling when Ushijima finally gets the washing machine going, not after pouring some lavender softener in to make sure Oikawa's shirt will smell extra nice and feel extra soft. He kicks back on the couch and clicks through TV channels until some popular crime drama is interesting enough to keep his attention for little more than thirty minutes. He won't be doing any gardening today, he concludes – weed 2, Ushijima 0.  

The show ends with the characters catching the murderer and taking him into custody, though there are only a handful of endings for episodes of crime shows, Ushijima thinks. He pulls out his phone and opens his conversation with Tendou.  

> **What's wrong with Oikawa's knee?**  
> 
> _Yes, hello,_ _wakatoshi_ _, I'm doing great, thanks for asking._  
> 
> _But_ _aight_ _, I'll bite. He had to get surgery on it sometime last year after you left. Other than that I just know he's always wearing that brace to matches, so he's probably had problems with it before._  
> 
> **Something serious?**  
> 
> _I mean, he was still playing volleyball last I checked, soooo._  

A moment passes before Tendou says anything more, and another show has started on the TV. The washing machine hasn't dinged yet.  

> _Why? Something happen? :0_  
> 
> **When he was over yesterday he got embarrassed that I was staring at it.**  
> 
> _I'll refrain from asking why he was in your house._  
> 
> _He's got a fragile ego so he probably thought you were mocking him._  
> 
> **But I wasn't.**  
> 
> _Ngl_ _but yo_ _ur face has_ _this constant ‘I’m judging you’ quality to it_ _._  

That's fair, Ushijima thinks.

He now wonders if he should apologize to Oikawa – no, bad idea, because obviously Oikawa's touchy about the subject to begin with. Should he just not bring it up at all then? He's normally someone to speak his mind regardless of people's feelings – something he considers a flaw and a strength – but he's also someone who doesn't like to be sassed by Oikawa when he gets in a bad mood. He didn't want Oikawa thinking he was making fun of him for any reason; he's not even sure if he's ever made fun of Oikawa in his entire life.  

The washing machine beeps obnoxiously and Ushijima thinks he'll pay Oikawa a visit when his shirt's done in the dryer.  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hey  
> thanks to liam for being a gr8 beta and all my friends for listening to me talk about ideas for this fic!! hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

It's hot and sunny out again now that the clouds have rolled their way towards the mountains, bringing their rain with them. The puddles have even dried and the ground is back to its normal light sandy hue. Ushijima purposely takes his time making his way up the bloc to Oikawa's house, since he wants to think about what he should say other than _here's your shirt back._ He won't bring up the knee thing, so...well, he guesses he _could_ just drop off the shirt and leave. That's a viable option.   

He knocks on the door to the Oikawa residence and waits while noticing how there's no car in the driveway. Before he can even wonder if no one's home, Carley is standing before him.  

"Wakatoshi! Hello," she greets in English. Her smile is bright and warm and he smiles back, though with outwardly less enthusiasm.   

"Oikawa- uh, Tooru left his shirt at my house." His voice sounds deeper when he speaks English, or maybe it's just because he's still getting used to the way his voice sounds when he speaks it. There's a very vague sense of weirdness that comes with calling Oikawa by his first name…and making a pretty lewd implication by having his shirt. 

"Oh, sure, sure! Come in, come in! His room's upstairs." She makes very exaggerated motions with her hands for him to step inside, and when he does, Ushijima realizes for the first time how much shorter Carley is compared to him – compared to her son, even. By eye she's probably only five foot six.   

She says she'll be in the kitchen if he needs her, and winks when she walks away.  Looking up the staircase into the dark abyss that lays beyond, he feels all the anxiety bubble inside his throat like he'd use to feel when he was only ten years old and walked onto a court where there were players taller than even he was at that time. He really should have planned his stratagem for confronting Oikawa better.  

Ushijima scratches the back of his neck and ascends the stairs.  

The upstairs hallway is dark and windowless unlike the seemingly completely different world he just came from. There's merely what appears to be the master bedroom to his left, a bathroom, and a closed door at the end of the hall with a soft light emitting under it. He can hear what sounds like music coming from that direction as well, and slowly walks until he comes to a halt. His knuckles rap against the door's wood but he doesn't really wait for an answer and lets himself in.  

A lot of analogies could probably be made about Oikawa Tooru's room, but Ushijima immediately thinks it looks like cotton candy and smells like Calvin Klein cologne. He's already almost run into a tower of boxes mostly labelled as clothes or books, but beyond that, the room looks like it's been lived in for years. The walls are a soft pastel pink (which probably wasn't done by the Oikawas seeing as they've only lived here for just shy of three weeks, but there isn't a doubt in Ushijima's mind that when Oikawa saw that room he quickly claimed it as his own), and are littered with posters and pictures. Ushijima recognizes album covers from Taylor Swift and Kanye West, and stickers of cute emoji bunnies and aliens, and if he squints can make out at least five pictures of Oikawa and Iwaizumi at various ages just above Oikawa's pillow. His bed is clad in a turquoise spread, but Ushijima thinks the most personal touch he sees is the Aoba Johsai jacket hung above the foot of the bed, much like his Shiratorizawa one in his own room. 

Oikawa is seated on a plush swivel chair with his legs crossed, situated in front of a white desk. He's on his laptop, which is connected to pretty decent speakers where the music – a song Ushijima is pretty sure is by Beyoncé – flows from at an even more impressive volume. No wonder he didn't hear him knock. Ushijima is about to knock again or clear his throat or something, but Oikawa swerves around and the first thing Ushijima sees is the phone displaying some weird idol game in Oikawa's lap. The next is...Oikawa's glasses, wide-rimmed and desperately hiking up the cute factor of his round face. All Ushijima does is blink.  

"Hey, so-" and the moment Oikawa realizes Ushijima isn't his mom is perfectly recognizable by the way he almost jumps out of his skin, "Ushijima?!"  

He maneuvers in an uncomfortable looking fashion and switches off his music, still pretty dumbfounded. "What are you doing here?"  

"Your shirt. You left it at my house." And he awkwardly makes his way over to Oikawa and hands the article of clothing to him.  

Oikawa, now over the initial shock of him being in his room, brings the shirt to his face and inhales deeply, smelling the almost sickeningly sweet lavender detergent now laced within its cotton. "You washed it, how nice." He doesn’t sound particularly grateful but sniffs it again, eyes wandering to Ushijima's legs. "And you shaved!" He exclaims, pointing. "See, if you listen to my advice, you may actually be attractive one day, Waka-chan." The smirk articulating his words is toothy but holds no ill-will.  

"Right." Ushijima replies simply. Maybe now is the time to leave-   

He finally realizes Oikawa is still wearing the shirt he lent him. It’s drooping scandalously off his left shoulder and looks very well slept in, which Ushijima would mind if he didn’t think Oikawa smelled nice. Oikawa’s clavicle is dramatically accentuated by the pose, and by god is it suggestive in ways it makes Ushijima’s gut tighten with what he thinks is possessive attraction – this is far more intimate to him than sitting half naked in Ushijima’s room. He blinks stupidly when Oikawa starts chuckling, saying snarkily:  

“Take a picture, Waka-chan,” he leans over and pats the side of his bed in a gesture for Ushijima to sit down, “It’d last longer.”  

Ushijima silently takes Oikawa’s direction and makes himself comfortable on the bed. Their knees are barely touching but it feels like the entirety of the sun’s heat beating down on Southern California is confined to their exact point of contact; the stark contrast created by his tanned, lightly freckled skin and Oikawa’s milky tone is absolutely fascinating to him. When it hits him, it hits him like a freight train – Oikawa Tooru is not only physically attractive in a passing sense, he’s _more_ _,_ and Ushijima is _enchanted_ by it, but he doesn’t know what that means, exactly. 

He realizes Oikawa’s been talking to him. 

“What?” he asks. 

Oikawa exaggerates a sigh, falling limp in his chair. “You’d think someone who didn’t say much would know how to listen,” he shakes his head and pushes up his glasses, “I asked why you moved to California.”  

Ushijima shrugs, “My mother wanted me to attend college in America and get to know my father better.”  

Oikawa nods as though that’s a satisfactory answer to a personal question. There hangs in the air the expectation for Ushijima to ask him the same, but he doesn’t and just waits for Oikawa to begin talking on his own – that thinking face of his is back again.  

“My father came here for business reasons.” His face contorts into a scowl and his words sound strange, detached in a way that Ushijima picks up on; he can almost physically feel the strain in Oikawa’s voice and the resentment he feels for his father. Oikawa probably misses his team, his friends, Iwaizumi. Probably feels helpless to do anything about any of it.  

Ushijima is about to say something he thinks would be reassuring, but Carley calls for both of them from downstairs. They both stare into each others’ eyes. It’s like a game of chicken to see who’ll get up first, and Oikawa loses. He waits for Ushijima by the door but by the time Ushijima’s by his side, Oikawa’s mood has already brightened.  

“Hey-ho!” Oikawa beams as they enter the kitchen, sounding sing-song and cheery now.  

“Hey!” Carley and Oikawa have the same smile, Ushijima notices. “I made dinner – there’s some for you, too, Wakatoshi. I hope you boys like it!”  

If the wonderful scent hadn’t already clued him in, Ushijima’s mouth would’ve watered at the sight of the beautifully made vegetable gyoza displayed on the island countertop next to the flat stove. He bows when he puts a few on a plate while listening to Oikawa sweetly thank his mother. Carley’s smile just grows wider.  

Ushijima joins Oikawa on the tan couch opposite a large flat screen in the living room. A west coast feed is on, since Ushijima doesn’t think Jeopardy comes on this early. He eats his food in silence but has a grand time chuckling whenever Oikawa shouts out answers to “astronomical objects” category questions, eyes burning with such determination that he’s right yet stills whoops in victory whenever Alex Trebek confirms that, yes, Oikawa knows a lot about space. Ushijima forgets whether he’s laughing with Oikawa or at him for _actually_ being a nerd over the course of the episode (seriously, who else other than Oikawa knows that Titan is the only moon with a sizeable atmosphere?). When Ushijima congratulates him for getting nearly all the answers right, Oikawa attributes it to being two standard deviations smarter than him. 

At some point Carley went upstairs with what looked like a medium sized box with an exceptional price tag slapped on it. Jeopardy ended, and Oikawa and Ushijima made a joint effort in cleaning the dishes, which was both so domestic and obedient-son-like to Ushijima, Oikawa looked out of place doing it. He honestly expected Oikawa to be a spoiled, whiny brat, but who could blame him?  

“Tooru,” Carley called, “I hooked up your TV. Netflix works, too.”  

Oikawa went from drying his hands to brazenly excited in a heartbeat. Ushijima immediately knew what was to come, since Tendou always had the same expression on his face whenever he discovered he had an opening to talk about whatever shounen manga he was currently interested in. “Do you watch X-Files?” he gasps, giddy as all hell. 

“…the show about a fox?” Ushijima says, playing dumb for Oikawa’s sake. His father adores American shows, especially ones you can binge watch – of course he knows what The X-Files is. 

“Yes. And no. Come, it’s time we put culture into the cultureless,” Ushijima inwardly smirks at the diss and follows Oikawa up the stairs back into his room.  

“Okay,” Oikawa sighs, hands on his hips, “you’re too fat. We’re gonna have to cuddle.”  

Ushijima wants to make a retort about how he’s not fat and they could just sit on the bed, but decides against it. He was curious as to where this could lead. So, he silently makes himself comfortable on the wall side of the bed and watches Oikawa get the Netflix app running on the TV.  

When Oikawa turns back around, he tsks, muttering something under his breath akin to “that’s not what I meant, stupid.” He yanks Ushijima’s right arm out from under him and adjusts it to his liking on top of the pillow. Ushijima just stares at him blankly until Oikawa shrugs and flops onto the bed, laying his head right in the crook of his elbow. Oikawa’s hair is soft and smells like sour apple shampoo, and his scent invades Ushijima’s personal bubble like it would in a perfume store – all encompassing.  

Oikawa hits play on the pilot episode, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how all the visible episodes have the characteristic red ‘watched’ line at the bottom.  

The opening plays and it’s damn near the cheesiest thing Ushijima’s ever seen, but Oikawa’s singing along to it, if you could call it singing. Ushijima may have been born in 1998 but he knows 90s when he sees it.  

But for some reason it gives him an idea. 

Now, Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t someone who liked to push someone’s boundaries without a clear purpose – if he didn’t want it happening to him, why would he do it to other people? He did, however, liked to know where his limits lay by brash experimentation.  

He snakes his left hand over Oikawa’s side and settles it on his abdomen, flat and broad and almost big enough to take up the entire space there. He can feel Oikawa’s warmth through his own thin shirt, but there’s enough space between them he can’t feel his pulse unless he brought his hand up further. He wonders how hard Oikawa’s heart is beating, because he can hear his own pounding against his eardrums.  

He feels the weird sensation of Oikawa simultaneously tensing and relaxing under his touch. The sounds of Mulder and Scully meeting for the first time are so completely drowned out by Ushijima that he hears Oikawa exhale ever so slightly.  

But Oikawa doesn’t say anything. He may have scooted closer, but maybe Ushijima’s imagining it.  

Time passes, and so do episodes, and it eventually dissolves into Oikawa eagerly talking about, and spoiling, the majority of the series. Ushijima only interrupts him a couple of times to ask him to translate obscure pseudoscience-y sounding words he probably wouldn’t even know if they had Japanese subtitles on. His hand remains planted on Oikawa’s stomach and he’s not sure when he started rubbing circles with his thumb but Oikawa doesn’t complain.  

He gets tired around ten.  

He’s interested in what’s happening on-screen, he really is, but his eyes keep fluttering shut against his will. At least he sent a text to his father an hour ago telling him he was spending the night. Oikawa is quiet but awake, he knows. He’s snuggled closer over time but their bodies aren’t yet touching – something that makes Ushijima desire warmth like he’d just come in from the snow. He could ask to get under the blanket, but that’d require moving, and he doesn’t want to break the contact.  

The next thing he knows is he’s waking up to a dark room. The lamp isn’t on now, but there are Christmas lights giving off the faintest of white glow near the ceiling. Netflix has shut off as well, which begs the question how late it must be.  

Before he can move, he feels small breathes skitter across his neck. They obviously belong to Oikawa, whose completely turned around in Ushijima’s arms and fallen asleep right at the peak of his adam’s apple. With every throb of his jugular he can feel what he believes are Oikawa’s lips, softly parted, pressing against his skin. He feels hot, like lava has flooded his veins and threatens to rip him apart, but he loves the way he the smaller brunet is cradled against him from head to toe, even if his entire right arm is numb and tingly.  

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he has to make the most miniscule of cautious movements in order to retrieve it and not wake Oikawa.  

It’s Tendou, of course, and seeing as its around one Pacific time, he must be after-practice-food time at Shiratorizawa. Ushijima scrolls through the messages to learn that Tendou’s mother packed him soggy cucumbers in his bento and didn’t have the decency, Tendou’s exact word, to give him a chocolate pudding cup.  

Ushijima’s eyes dart down to the sleeping form beside him and back to the screen. Considering Tendou must be bored out of his mind if he’s bothering Ushijima about pudding cups, or the lack thereof, he decides to reply with an inquiry.  

> **Is it possible for Oikawa to be involved with Iwaizumi** **?**  

He’s actually not sure why he’s asking this. What does it matter if he is? Why is he even assuming Oikawa’s sexual preferences anyway?  

> _Go to sleep,_ _wakatoshi_ _, it’s late._  
> 
> _Unless you’re serious,_ _in which case, no._  
> 
> **Okay.**  
> 
> _Since you’r_ _e probably wondering, my reasoning is that I’m pretty sure_ _the_ _girl Iwaizumi was making out with before_ _the last match_ _was his girlfriend._  
> 
> _Coulda_ _been his sister, you never know._ _In which case,_ _gross, dude._ _:V_  
> 
> **I believe you.**  
> 
> _W_ _hy_ _do you ask_ _?_  

He doesn’t send a reply, just lets his eyes slowly drift shut.  

* * *

 

When he wakes up again, it’s early morning. Golden sunlight hardly makes its way through the window, but the staccato of small birds chirping has already begun. Oikawa is still tucked neatly under his arm and snores softly, but goddamn is Ushijima’s right arm dead by this point.  

So he, begrudgingly, slides his arm out from under Oikawa, who wakes up lazily after the commotion. Oikawa blinks dumbly through the dim light, squinting like he can’t quite make out Ushijima’s face through the sleep clouding his vision.  

“Sorry for waking you,” Ushijima whispers to him, and inwardly smiles when Oikawa just pushes his head against his shoulder and groans obnoxiously.  

They stay like that for a little while. Ushijima counts all the hairs turned bright and gold by the rising sun on Oikawa’s head until the latter says he wants breakfast.  

“Hopefully you know how to make fluffy pancakes with blueberries, Waka-chan, ‘cause I won’t accept anything less.” 

Oikawa is the first to tiptoe down the stairs after checking the master bedroom to make sure neither his father nor his mother are awake. Ushijima follows soon after, but his footsteps are noticeably louder and heavier. He’s not really the sneaking type, both in build and in personality.  

The wall facing the backyard is mostly comprised of windows, so the kitchen is already lit up like the morning sky. Oikawa swings his arms around in a stretch, looking outside to momentarily admire the view. Unlike Ushijima, he doesn't have a pool since his house has a second story, but he does like the small grassy yard they have. He kinda wants a dog.  

"So, what should we eat?" He practically skips over to Ushijima.  

"I thought I was making pancakes."  

"Please, Ushiwaka," Oikawa pats him on the shoulder, "spare me your delusions of being a grand chef."  

He stares back at Oikawa with arched, incredulous brows. They're in another staring contest, but again Oikawa loses when he sticks his tongue out and says, fine, but don't break anything, Baka-Waka.  

Ushijima sets out instantly, opening nearly all the cabinets to look for a sizeable mixing bowl. He, coincidentally, _did_ know how to make pancakes. His mother loved pastries and breakfast foods, but she loved to teach her son how to work magic in the kitchen even more. The flour and baking soda are easy to find since Carley had used some to make the gyoza last night, and there are fresh eggs and blueberries from the farmer's market in the fridge. He has to ask Oikawa (who's pretending to be watching the weather channel, but whenever Ushijima's back is turned, Oikawa's peering over the couch cushions) where the sugar and vinegar are. Oikawa had said something about him already losing his reputation as a chef for adding vinegar into the same bowl he'd poured reduced fat milk in, but Ushijima simply said "Trust me."  

He sets aside the milk solution and begins to create the batter. The egg and butter go in easy and his biceps strain as he works the whisk to get the clumps of flour and sugar to dissolve, creating a nicely spreadable yellow goop. He sets a frying pan to heat and starts to add the now thinned milk into the mixing bowl while folding in the blueberries, and occasionally looks up at Oikawa who still looks like he's questioning his technique.  

The only remedy for that is making a resplendent show of heating the batter into a pancake. He wishes he was confident enough in his flipping abilities to just really make a show off of himself, but it's not really a good idea to unprofessionally do that to pancakes you want particularly light. Oikawa seems captivated nonetheless.  

He tops the stack of two he puts on Oikawa's plate with a square of butter and puts a blueberry on top just for appearance's sake. The kitchen smells rich and sweet, like syrup and crispy bread.  

"Oh, so you're a five-star chef now." Oikawa says, eyeing his plate as though it could have been poisoned.  

"Presentation is always half the execution." Ushijima nods.  

Oikawa isn't hesitant to cut a piece of the top pancake off and taste it, trying ridiculously hard not to smile as his taste buds give praise in a beautiful explosion of flakey hot cake and butter. "It's alright." He says laughing a little, as though he was embarrassed he was proved wrong.  

To Ushijima, that's perfect. He doesn't think Oikawa has ever just genuinely complimented him before, not since Oikawa decided that he and Ushijima would always stand on opposite sides of the court. He wonders what it would've been like if he and Oikawa actually became friends in middle school, if Oikawa didn't want to push him away whenever he opened up a little too much, if it didn't feel like being pushed against a wall expecting to be kissed when you just end up getting stabbed. Wait, wait, no – not like that.  

"Hm, who knew someone as mindless as Ushijima Wakatoshi could be more than just a wing-spiker." And to think pancake expert would be apart of that goes unspoken by Oikawa as he twiddles his fork, talking as though Ushijima wasn't standing right next to him. Ushijima doesn't take offense to it, though. It sounded philosophical if anything, as though it was finally dawning on Oikawa that Ushijima wasn't some big bad threat after all.  

He instead thinks about everything that's transpired in the past twelve hours or so. Might as well not beat around the bush – he was pretty sure cuddling and making fluffy blueberry pancakes wasn't on the fast-track checklist to becoming best friends for life – but what did that mean for him, for Oikawa? He doesn't even know why he indulged Oikawa so much, or why Oikawa had let him. For a minute he considers finally consulting his father, but remembers he has an unanswered question from Tendou to reply to, and thinks that'll be on his priority list whenever he gets home.  

After breakfast is over and it sounds like Carley and her husband are awake, Ushijima thinks it's time to walk back to his house.  

He's stopped at the door by Oikawa, who grabs at the back of his shirt in what feels like a last second decision.  

"Hey," Oikawa says, pulling on his, well, Ushijima's, shirt - "What about this?"  

 "You can keep it." Ushijima says, smirking as he leaves before Oikawa can say anything more. He doesn't want to give Oikawa the opportunity to say no, not when they've had this good a time.  

When he gets home Ushijima immediately takes a shower, letting tension drip out of him along with the water as it comes down hot and heavy against his back. He watches the steam swirl around him like a thick fog, which is doing a great job with his sinuses, at the very least. There's a weight he can't seem to shake on his chest, like someone's pressing on his heart, but he doesn't know what it could be – he does do cardio at least three times a week. So, that's not it. His thoughts wander back to cuddling with Oikawa under the tiny Christmas lights like stars.  

His phone's blinking with a new text after he's done padding his hair dry. He thinks it's just Tendou, so he just ignores it for a little bit – even if it appeared there were only a couple windows of conversation opportunities due to the sixteen hour time difference between Southern California and Japan, Tendou was actually an avid insomniac who was virtually reachable at any time of the day. Whether if that was by nature or by Tendou's own doing, Ushijima wasn't sure, but he was willing to bet it was because his friend used to love to stay up at night reading manga – under the covers with a flashlight, the whole nine yards.   

Ushijima feels disappointed by the smell of his room when he enters it; it doesn't smell half as good as Oikawa's, it just has this vague waft of Axe and Lotrimin that mixes from time to time and disperses when the air conditioning comes on. His phone's light is getting annoying at this point though, so he finally unlocks it.  

There's a text from a new contact who's name is just set to the alien emoji, and Ushijima doesn't even have to read the text in order to know who it's from. Oikawa must've snatched his phone when he was asleep. 

> _now_ _u can_ _text me_ _whenver_ _u want, waka-chan!!!_ _\o/_  

Ushijima isn't actually mad at the invasion of privacy, since it really just saved him the trouble of asking Oikawa for his number himself. He doesn't think Oikawa is truly devious enough to go through truly private things, anyways – at least, that's what he hopes.  

He opens the conversation with Tendou again, getting a little shocked that it's been more than the better half of sixteen hours since his late night conversation. There's only one new message, sent roughly twenty minutes after Ushijima had fallen asleep again.  

> _If_ _you're worried about Oikawa liking you, you could just lend him another one of your shirts, lmao._  
> 
> **What? I didn't tell you about that.**  

Ushijima is narrowly glaring at the screen at that point. He can't even begin to fathom how Tendou could know about that, and there's an itchy feeling of paranoia that trickles down his neck. A couple minutes pass as one Tendou Satori realizes he's royally fucked up.  

> _Oh, shit._  
> 
> _I_ _can totally explain myself, okay._  
> 
> _> [Image attachment.] _ 

Ushijima opens the picture file and allows it to download. Honestly? He didn't know what to expect, but it was leagues away from the pixelated photograph of Oikawa replaces the previously empty image icon. The first thing he could say about it was that it was definitely from Snapchat, that made obvious by the characteristic black caption line running across it. Ushijima isn't sure if the rest of the picture is real.  

Oikawa, at a slightly grainy resolution due to the only light on him coming from his phone, is laying on what Ushijima recognizes as Oikawa's bed. His hair looks unruly like he'd just been out in the rain, but his clothes are dry – or, Ushijima should say, the shirt pictured was originally _his_. He can perfectly make out the obscure logo plastered against the heather grey cotton that hangs loosely off Oikawa's shoulders even though he's on his back. The bright smile and peace sign are just accessories to the assault of disbelief on Ushijima's eyes, but the caption is the true icing on the cake:  

_he_ _lent me his shirt!!!_  

It's followed by a ludicrous amount of heart eye emojis, and it's obvious to him (and everyone else, it seems) who the 'he' Oikawa is referring to is. Him. Ushijima Wakatoshi, who Oikawa, up until very recently, constantly reminded the world is the bane of his existence.  

Ushijima has an epiphany that night.  

He has a crush on Oikawa Tooru.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hola.   
> i'm not rly feelin this chapter but eh ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯   
> ALSO! there'll be homophobic/racist slurs in the next update when they start their senior year, so if that stuff bugs ya, i'm sorry!!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm super open to critique/comments of any form, and i'll try to update this fic as much as i can with me graduating soon \o/
> 
> tumblr @ palegoat.tumblr.com


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